I don't like blood and guts,

but I love them when they're lengthily discussed

Because nothing's more relaxing than the cries of death and loves

So spend a tender hour

With golly and rest

The year is 20118.

Only one man with the tightest pin curliest hair can take to the track,

nay, take to the wheels on his feet to spin around the roller dome,

trailed and towed by a motorcycle, spiked helmets and gauntlets only to collect a heavy steel ball

to place in a magnet hole of some kind, all representative of the carnage of this.

Dysopia now. This is with Gourley and Rust. I'm Matt Goyley.

And I'm Paul Rust, and I'm sitting with my generation's Bob Costas. The fluidity of coverage there. That was very, uh, uh, uh, look at me. I couldn't do it. I just went, that was very, uh, uh, uh, uh. Well, I hadn't want to hear that on your NFL broadcast. Years of Pistol Shrimps radio practice, which meant getting it all wrong, you know. I felt the flavor, though, of pistol shrimps radio practice, which meant getting it all wrong, you know.

I felt the flavor, though, of pistol shrimps there.

Much like the flavor of a shrimp that you would eat.

I felt the flavor of a pistol shrimp.

How are you, Paul?

I'm doing well.

How are you?

I'm good.

It's kind of gearing up towards the end of the year.

This may, I guess maybe our last recording towards the end of the year. I guess maybe

our last recording of the year before the holidays, I think. Yeah. And if you're listening to this

...